


Shelter

by DyslexicBookwyrm72, Lillian_Williams



Series: They Had Feelings For Each Other [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Books, Bookstores, Cleaning, Ford Bashing, House Cleaning, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), KonMari, KonMari | Marie Kondo's Tidying Method, M/M, Swearing, Tea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 22:16:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19935379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyslexicBookwyrm72/pseuds/DyslexicBookwyrm72, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian_Williams/pseuds/Lillian_Williams
Summary: All living things have the same basic needs:FoodWaterShelterSafetyAnd CompanionshipA collections of stories about an angel and a demon. Miracles not included. Apocalypse sold separately.An Angel and a Demon were about to, as the angel would say, take a seat at the table of Marie Kondo and inevitably bite off more than they could chew.





	Shelter

An angel and a demon were about to, as the angel would say, take a seat at the table of Marie Kondo and inevitably bit off more than they could chew. 

Aziraphale had excitedly told Crowley of the new book he had begun to read, all about organization and zen. Something about sparks of joy, but Crowley wasn't quite sure what he meant by that, but it made the angel happy, so he agreed to help him with his newest project. 

The demon had made his way to Soho, parking in a vaguely legal space before sauntering casually into whatever Aziraphale had planned for them today. Crowley gently pushed through the door into the book shop only to stop when the door did. He looked down to find several boxes, the one on top filled with original texts of Italian painters prints. 

"Aziraphale? You in here somewhere?" Crowley called out. He pushed in through the door, kicking it closed behind him.

"Oh Crowley, is that you?" Came a cheery voice from somewhere in the labyrinth of literature.

"Who else would it be?" Crowley asked with an incredulous look. "Your hours state that Tuesday you might be closed. Honestly, angel, I can't even understand your sign. Are you open right now? Nah, never mind I know you wouldn't be someone might try to purchase something and we can't have that can we?" The demon feigned a horrified look, clutching at imaginary pearls

"You can't blame me for not wanting to be another cog in the apparatus of capitalism" Azieriphale appeared from a tunnel of words with a stack of books on historical murders and dance technique; not in the same book. Crowley thought about asking why those particular books were in the same pile, but then decided he didn't want to know. 

"Wait, was that Above or Below?" Crowley muttered, sneering slightly. 

"I think that was Pollution doing. All the great and terrible things about capitalism fall under their category." He replied, absent-mindedly picking up another book about murder, a book about British naval warfare and one on chinchillas. 

"They were over in America, yeah? That'd make sense." Crowley said with an exaggerated frown. "First attempt at an internal combustion engine hasn't really made much headway since the beginning. Just added more valves. I mean, the bodies have gotten sleeker but that's 'cause it's all fiberglass now." Crowley threw his hands up. "Do you know, do you know why they're called Fords? It's because adding a clause that long about all the mechanical failures to a sale's contract would make Hell itself cry, so they had to abbreviate it: Fix Or Repair Daily. Found On Road Dead. Fucking Ostentatious Road Decoration!"

"Ooh, I like that last one!" Aziraphale said bouncing on the spot

"And you know what else? Th- What the heaven happened in here?" Crowley's arms slowly lowered as he took in the chaos that surrounded him. "Did you lose something?" The demon's eyes travelled from the pile to the surrounding store, seeing that every book- _Every. Single. Book._ \- was off of their shelves and on the floor.

"No! I found something." Aziraphale said with a huge smile stretching his face. 

"That you can intravenously consume espresso shots?" Crowley's sunglasses slide down his nose as he tilted his head toward the angel, eyebrow raised questioningly. 

"No, a lovely woman whose patented a way of applying what is essentially Japanese zen Buddhism to domestic care," Aziraphale said excitedly as he rocked back and forth on his heels clutching a book tightly to his chest. It was an obscure title in something that appeared to be Latin.

"Yeah, you were saying on the phone. I thought zen was about peace an' all. Doesn't feel too peaceful in here at the mo'." Crowley said, making a show of sniffing at the bookshop, then mimicked a disturbed shudder.

"Ah yes, I'm on the path to zen. I suppose I haven't quite gotten there quite yet. No, she said- oh and she is such a sweet young woman, you would love her- she says to only keep the things that spark joy. How lovely is that! And she talks about thanking items you get rid of and, and how you have to compile all the things you own, in a particular category and---" The angel hardly paused for air when he got this excited. 

Crowley gave his head a few shakes, waving his hand out in front of Aziraphale. 

"Whoa, there. Hold o- hold on, angel. Slow down. I remember. Joy sparking clothes, or some variant of the like. I got that," Crowley said, furrowed his brows, nodding his head side-to-side. "But, what brought this on?"

"Spring cleaning, I suppose, um, nesting, as they call it." The angel replied with a quick shrug, a warm smile fixed on his face. He was continuously swaying his arms emphatically trying to find the right idiom. Aziraphale's eyes trailed back to the books, and he was lost to his train of thought. 

"And that came about because…" The demon trailed off, motioning with his hand for Aziraphale to get to the point.

"Well, your house is always so clean, and organized mine is such a mess. Plus this way I can sort out the books I won't sell verses the books I don't want to sell."

"Fair point. On the selling part that is, not the 'my house' bit. Only that way, 'cause- forget it, not important. Anyways. Is that what we're gonna be doing today?" Crowley started assessing the best way to tackle the job. Based on the volume of books it would take more than an afternoon doing it the way Aziraphale had described, thankfully he'd gotten in his eighteen hours of sleep that week. His latest show hadn't ended well, so there hadn't been anything to do Sunday.

"Oh well I would love help, but I don't know if you can help me. I was hoping to get it done before nightfall, but frankly, dear boy, it would take a miracle to get this done before sunset." The angel's voice pitched worryingly. Then he began clasping and unclasping his hands together. That was not a good sign. 

"Miracle, huh?" Crowley gave Aziraphale a taunting smirk. "What exactly was your "grand organizational vision", angel?" Using finger quotation for the emphasis.

"Oh, well, you know I would love to tell you, but are you sure you have the time?" He asked, voice full of sincerity. 

"Not even a little bit. Go on." Crowley exhaled slowly, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and focused all his attention on tracking each and every detail of Aziraphale's plan. 

"Well since you've asked…" Aziraphale took a deep breath and proceeded to explain his mental organizational dream in excruciating detail:

***

"And over here we can put World Religion as a bridge between the Bibles and Apocrypha, and then we can use the Buddhism section to cross into oh… Philosophy and Essays. You can put Language over here by Travel, and we can put the Children's books near the...near the...over there. True crime can go next to Horror. Then, Suspense can bridge into- now, Crowley," the demon nodded, straightening his back a bit as he did, to show he was still listening. They'd passed the hour mark some time ago. "-And this one is particularly important. I want Fantasy and Science Fiction on opposite sides of the store, you understand me? Because despite everyone's attempt to blend them into one homogeneous mass, they are, in fact, separate categories. Each of great worth but with no need to meet in the middle." Aziraphale paused for emphasis, a stern look on his face 

"Gotcha," Crowley gave a curt nod. But then asked out loud, very unintentionally, "but what about Stasheff?"

Aziraphale's face went slack. The demon should have kept his mouth shut, but it was too late now so...

"Then there's Piers Anthony." Crowley trailed off. He screwed up his mouth, head and hands shifting side to side.

The angel did not respond. His face tightened at the jaw, lips disappearing with the severity of his pout, with a sniff he turned on his heel toward the doorway and grabbed, what Crowley assumed, was one of the offending authours to check the copyright page to see where it was listed as a genre. After a few moments, there was a noise of contempt, and the angel faced the demon. 

"They will be quarantined to their own section like the genre heretics they are." Then, before Crowley could ask any more disturbing questions, Aziraphale picked up where he'd left off-.

"And we can put the Cookbooks over here and Classic- Oh, I love the Classics!- I would like them to go just under the train set that rounds the store oh how magical would that be you could have 'A' and 'Z' at the front, and they just circumnavigate the store. And the Romance section... Put it wherever it fits" Aziraphale looked up with a face that said he intended for his sentence to sound like that. Crowley kept his face as stoic as possible. If he started joking now, he'd lose his carefully constructed list of where each book needed to be placed. 

"And Poetry over here away from Romance and the Non-Fiction Histories over here by the Biographies and then the Artbooks over there by the coffee nook and easel and then the books on science… up here on the mezzanine by the telescope and then…"

On and on and on Aziraphale went, detailing every facet of how his ideal book store would be laid out until he had talked himself hoarse. Once the angel had thoroughly exerted himself wandering around the store, placing sticky notes and labels on every shelf and every flat surface; the clock chimed. It was time for tea. Aziraphale excused himself to turn on the kettle. 

The angel had headed toward his kitchenette, giving Crowley enough time to picture the exact scene that his friend had described. The demon took off his sunglasses then, with a roll of his shoulders, he spread his hands somewhat dramatically. Snap. Ever so slightly, the temperature began to rise in the shop until suddenly, the piles were gone. Every book was on their shelves in the precise order, in the correct color palate, lined precisely to the edge for the aesthetics the angel enjoyed. He'd had to update some of Aziraphale's bookcases to fit some of the large volumes correctly, but hopefully, it wouldn't be an issue. Except for the remaining few on the sofa that Crowley was unsure of everything was exactly as Aziraphale had described it. Crowley walked over and opened a window to let some fresh air in and the slightly sulfurous tang out. Placing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose, Crowley folded himself into the sofa, resting his arms on the back.

Trying to get Aziraphale's attention Crowley swiped the top book from the pile and waved it at the angel, who was looking down at his tea as he came back into the room. When that didn't work, he cleared his throat pointedly.

Aziraphale had still been internally focused on his project. He'd continued verbally sorting through his thought process via the ritual of making proper tea.

"...and then after tea, we can-" Aziraphale said nothing more. He just held his tea close to his chest and scanned the store. When the angel looked up, his store was exactly as he had envisioned it. Everything was where he said he wanted it.

"What about these lot, angel?" Crowley asked in a bored tone. He flitted through the pile in what seemed like a careless manner as he discreetly alphabetized them by authour. After a moment or two, he stacked them together and proferred them towards the angel, who instantly spread them out, de-alphabetizing them. 

"I say…how...erm...those can go...well this one can go here and Nabokov you can over here away from Romance _and_ ," Aziraphale said drawing out the word as he squinted conspiratorially at the book stroking the cover like the hand of an old friend. The fires of mischiefs long since passed warming his gaze. "Chaucer, ol' mate, you-"

"Cad?" Crowley said with a smirk." Writes one hell of an apology letter, though."

The angel looked at the demon with an absolute absence of humour.

"You can go over here," Aziraphale said emphasizing every syllable while staring Crowley directly in the eyes. The demon threw back his head, laughing. "He wasn't that bad, at least he knew what iambic pentameter meant."

"Suppose not when you were around." Crowley shrugged. Pushing himself to his feet, he made his way over to the boxes by the door. 

The angel's jaw dropped "I was on a MISSION! SIR! I couldn't exactly tell the Almighty' sorry, but no. I don't want to help you with your holy crusade I have to meet my pal down at the inn for a pint'!"

"You said we weren't friends then. Glad you've finally come 'round to the truth. Seeing as how you're all about that on your end of things. Food was terrible anyway, and they only had the worst type of ale." The demon smiled cheekily at Aziraphale, but the muscles around his eyes were hard. "Chaucer was always pushing the letter, and his debts, a bit hard." 

"It's not his fault you're better than everyone at cards. All men have their faults 'tis not gentlemanly to tempt a poor soul to destruction."

"Never said I was a gentleman, angel. I didn't tempt him to do anything. If anything, I was the one in danger there." Crowley got a mischievous smile, and you could see the glint of his eyes over the top of his glasses. "And it was dice." 

"'Cept the other day when you said you raised yourself to be a gentleman. And I can't think of the last time you were in real danger. Not the kind you put yourself in, the kind that is actually dangerous. And semantics, Crowley."

"Different time, then," Crowley said his shoulder blades rolling back and going taunt. "Different me too…"

The book shop fell silent for a moment as it often did when the two beings contemplated the lives they led when they were apart. Both faces fell; in their own manner, and both worked their way through their mental journey finding their way back to each other, and this shared moment in the bookshop.

Crowley's mind had started down a path he never wanted to tread again. So, instead, he sucked in a breath, biting down on his bottom lip and gently nudged one of the boxes at his feet with his leather boot. The angel's head snapped toward the noise. Once he noticed it was just the demon, Aziraphale tilted his head questioningly at the stack of boxes. All were full of tomes he cared slightly less about keeping.

"Ya know, angel, you could set up an online store for these ones. Then you wouldn't have to see people. Just keep 'em somewhere else, that way when you're selling they can't ask 'bout ones you want to keep. Outta sight outta mind, eh?"

"Where exactly would I keep them?"

Crowley shrugged. "We could go get a storage unit or somethin'?"

"Oh, I don't know about all that," Aziraphale scoffed his eyes rolling with the tilt of his head. "Seems so modern, don't you think? Having so much stuff you have to pay extra just to have a place for all of it?"

"Is that part of that lady's propaganda?" Crowley narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Lifting up a box, waving it slowly at the angel, temptingly. "Mean you don't have to get rid of anything, though."

"Well… How are we going to get the boxes to this place? They won't fit on my bicycle." Aziraphale pouted, but Crowley was already heading out the door.

"My car." The demon threw incredulously over his shoulder. He heard Aziraphale's shuffling footsteps and the ring of the doorbell. Crowley waved a careless hand, and the rest of the boxes appeared in the Bentley.

"Oh no, this is fine. I'm sure we can find the space for them all." Aziraphale said, his voice an octave too high, smile a wrinkle too sweet. His hands began coiling around themselves until he was forced to admit he had bones and they could bend no further.

"Come on now, angel. Won't be that bad. Promise." Crowley said, flashing the angel a toothy but reassuring smile. 

***

Crowley returned the angel to his shop with a promise to watch the show. He'd actually meant it, so the demon threw it on when he got back to his flat. However, a week or so later, the lady living beneath the demon overheard a rather strange fight between the two. Something about how…

 _'Even though it didn't spark joy you can't just go around setting things on fire, Crowley!'_ and _'Sparking these things would give me joy, angel!'._

It was all much too peculiar for her. When the gentlemen left, she held the main door open while they carried out some very odd, and dangerous, seeming artifacts all the while bickering as they loaded boxes into her neighbor's immaculate vintage car.


End file.
